'If they had force,' answered Elicio, 'those who are here are such friends of truth, that not even in jest would they contradict it, and herein you can see, Lenio, how far you go from it, since there is no one to approve your words, or even to hold your intentions good.' 'Then in faith,' said Lenio, 'may your intentions not save you, oh Elicio, but let the air tell it, which you ever increase with sighs, and the grass of these meadows which grows with your tears, and the verses you sang the other day and wrote on the beeches of this wood, for in them will be seen what it is you praise in yourself and blame in me.' Lenio would not have remained without a reply, had they not seen coming to where they were the fair Galatea, with the discreet shepherdesses Florisa and Teolinda, who, not to be recognised by Damon and Thyrsis, had placed a white veil before her fair face. They came and were received by the shepherds with joyous welcome, especially by the lovers Elicio and Erastro, who felt such strange content at the sight of Galatea, that Erastro, being unable to conceal it, in token thereof, without any one asking it of him, beckoned to Elicio to play his pipe, to the sound of which, with joyous and sweet accents, he sang the following verses: ERASTRO. Let me but the fair eyes see Of the sun I am beholding; If they go, their light withholding, Soul, pursue them speedily. For without them naught is bright, Vainly may the soul aspire, Which without them doth desire Neither freedom, health nor light. Whoso can may see these eyes Yet he cannot fitly praise; But if he would on them gaze He must yield his life as prize. Them I see and saw before, And each time that I behold, To the soul I gave of old New desires I give once more. Nothing more can I bestow, Nor can fancy tell me more, If I may not her adore For the faith in her I show. Certain is my punishment If these eyes, so rich in bliss, Viewed but what I did amiss, Nor regarded my intent. So much happiness I see That this day, though it endure For a thousand years and more, But a moment were to me. Time, that flies so swiftly by, Doth the flight of years withhold, Whilst the beauty I behold Of the life for which I die.